True Xander
by Manchester
Summary: On an AU Halloween, Xander dresses up in a completely different costume for which this teenager adds an accessory he might not necessarily need several years in the future. Rating is for the language used by one of this story's characters.
1. Chapter 1

"Oh, _great!_" disgustedly exclaimed Xander just before tossing Grandpa Harris' Army fatigues back into the cardboard box where they'd previously laid undisturbed by human hands for the last couple of decades. Unfortunately, the numerous holes throughout the green military clothing showed where a horde of ravenous moths had dined well on these garments just as long ago. A California high school student sitting cross-legged on the garage floor among a heap of family junk crammed in there now sourly wondered what to do next.

Halloween was tomorrow. Even if he went looking for yard work or any other jobs he could do then around the neighborhood, there just wasn't time to score enough cash to improve his positively pitiful costume budget. He'd really been counting on the free outfit a dead-broke Xander vaguely remembered from seeing years back. It'd already taken a whole hour of digging through a dozen boxes and other storage containers to find the spoiled Army clothes which had been hopefully planned to be worn by him while escorting trick-or-treating kids around town that night with Buffy and Wils.

An idle thought of putting on those tattered fatigues anyway and claiming he'd _tried_ looking inconspicuous on the front lines but the enemy still spotted him and they definitely weren't low on ammo made Xander snicker to himself. Notwithstanding the perfect chance to illustrate one of Murphy's Laws of Combat, the boy reluctantly dismissed this terrific idea. *No way will Snyder let me get away with that. Plus, the world ain't ready for a proud display of my butt going commando.*

Sighing, the teenager went through one more time the box with the ruined fatigues, on the slight chance there might be something else in there he could change into which still had an intact seat of the pants. Going through even more insect-munched attire, this didn't seem too likely.

Just when Xander was about to quit, his searching fingers felt something crinkle in the front pocket of another unwearable men's shirt. Pulling this out, he felt his spirits lift at seeing an actually lucky find, nothing less than a cool ten-spot! Yeah, okay, the money was a little nibbled around the edges, but it should still be good, right? Added to the couple of bucks he'd previously saved to complete the Army fatigues with a purchased toy gun or rifle, there had to be some great outfits at the new costume store in the Sunnydale business district which Xander Harris could buy on the really, really cheap.

* * *

No, there weren't.

Great outfits, absolutely. Cheap, however, wasn't the word for them.

Xander mooched along after Wils and Buffy happily checking out the numerous and _very_ expensive costumes one by one in the Halloween shop. This eventually resulted in him bestowing his finest jaundiced glower towards yet another ghost outfit selected by his bestest bud. Making things even worse was how sickeningly Buffy cooed over and then bought an eighteenth-century noblewoman's gown, all because it was sure to impress a certain souled vampire with an extremely suspicious fondness for male hair products.

It wasn't until they were finished and standing outside the costume store that Willow noticed Xander hadn't acquired anything connected with his own set of Halloween clothes. Asked about this, the boy shrugged it off by telling the Slayer and her red-haired friend he was going over to Costume Town right now and check out their prices first. Accepting this, Buffy confirmed with the others they'd all meet at her house tomorrow night dressed up, and then head together to the high school. Waving goodbye to the girls, Xander went down the block and then around the street corner, to next loiter there for a few minutes until cautiously peeking to see if Wils and the Buffmeister were both gone and out of sight from the All-Hallows Eve holiday business establishment.

Seeing the coast was clear, Xander legged it back to the costume shop. Bursting in on the creepy Brit guy clearly surprised by this, Xander marched up to the counter. There, the shopkeeper was standing behind the cash register while giving the returned non-purchasing lad a most wary look. Stopping in front of Ethan (was that his first or last name?), Xander fumbled out the scanty sheaf of dollar bills he'd been carrying in his pants pocket. The younger man slapped this measly wad of moola down onto the counter.

"Look, mister," Xander aggressively announced, "Here's the deal. That's _all_ the money I've got. Do you have anything here for sale costing this much, or even less? 'Cause it's this place or Costume Town, and I'm not sure I can afford whatever's there, either. So, no matter how crummy, stupid, or silly you might have on sale at half-price or lower, I'll take it!"

Feeling in equal measure a trifle amused and irritated by the brash young American, Ethan still began to regretfully decline this rather…intriguing attempt at negotiations. It'd admittedly be quite droll to sell another one of his special costumes to an additional friend of the Slayer. However it worked out the next night, Janus would certainly enjoy the outcome. Nonetheless, business was business. He might be a devout advocate of chaos, but even among a state of complete disorder and confusion, a man had eat. That truly inadequate amount of currently offered wouldn't cover a double order of this colonial location's dreadful version of fish and chips.

Just before he actually said these words of refusal though, a sudden thought struck Ethan. Following it through on exactly how to phrase his next statements to avoid any tiresome revisit of a deceived customer demanding their money back, the Englishman soon developed a somewhat sardonic smile. This caused Xander a mild flicker of inward worry at the hint of sheer, delighted malevolence evident in this expression.

Regardless, the older male spoke courteously enough when he addressed the teen, "Young man, I'm afraid there isn't any inclusive costume here which fits those fairly idiosyncratic parameters. _However…_"

An impressive pause coming after this was followed by Ethan nodding down at a good-sized cardboard box tightly taped shut and resting on the floor off to the left side of the container. Xander's gaze naturally went to this object, especially when he heard the shopkeeper continue, "That box contains various superfluous items and other discards which came along with my stock. I placed them in there for proper disposal when I leave after Halloween. If you like, you may purchase the box and its contents, and create whatever costume you desire from anything to be found in there."

Xander considered this. It sounded good, but he wanted more details. "What kind of costumes are we talking here? I mean, can you tell me what's in the box?"

"Not specifically as to which costumes they came from, alas. I wasn't paying all that much attention," Ethan apologetically shrugged. On the inside, he was in fact genuinely enjoying himself at pulling off such a delightful little scam. In a thoughtful tone as if trying to remember something, the man went on. "There's a selection of clothing and other accouterments, including headwear, footwear, belts, at least one outer jacket or coat, and the like. Mind you, I can't guarantee their condition or sizes. What you buy is what you get, and all sales are final."

That didn't bother Xander, not when he could barely afford anything at all. Still, there was one last thing-

"Are there any toy guns? I thought about going as a soldier on Halloween, and buying one of those here for a prop."

Ethan carefully considered his next words. "I'm sure I saw what seemed to be some sort of replica weapon, but I didn't examine it too closely. Again, you'll have to settle for whatever you can find. Is that sufficient?" While waiting for an answer, the gleeful Chaos mage mentally congratulated himself for telling no lies and yet being about to take the little prat for everything he had.

Hesitating for a few moments in a struggle to make up his mind, Xander eventually agreed. "Fine, it's a deal. I get the box, you get the cash."

Matching actions to words, the Sunnydale native bent down to grab and lift the box about the size of a small television set. It wasn't all that heavy, weighing about the same as a backpack loaded with school books. There was still enough heft in it to indicate the box was completely filled. Xander felt a little better at finding this out. Hey, even if the stuff in there wasn't what he really wanted, surely there'd be something he could work with to come up with a reasonably adequate costume, right? Nodding goodbye to the deadpan proprietor, Xander left the building with the box in his arms after pushing open the front door with a handy elbow.

It wasn't until a whole minute or so later when Ethan was confident that idiot lad wouldn't be back right away did he allow himself a shark-like grin. Chuckling as he scooped up and deposited the money lying on the counter, Ethan mused out loud, "Ah, just like old times shaking down the rich fags at Eton. They weren't so clever with all their lovely loot in my pocket, and neither was young Mr. Take-It-Or-Leave-It. Wonder if he's dim-witted enough to actually try piecing together a costume from that load of shite I just sold him? Well, if he does, the Chaos magic on those filthy rags will work anyway, but it'll probably turn out as something not even I can guess at. Which, come to think of it, makes the whole thing just more glorious _fun."_


	2. Chapter 2

"_Crap!_ Crap, crap, CRAP!"

This angry shouting wasn't just a furious venting of his enraged feelings, but also an all too accurate description of what Xander had just strewn upon the garage floor after viciously kicking over the opened box from Ethan's costume shop. Breathing hard, the teenager now back at his home spent a couple of sullen minutes going over every single word a certain British bastard had mentioned while conning Xander into earlier buying the box and its contents. A sudden sense of absolute glumness overcame this boy after realizing he didn't have any real cause to claim being cheated out of his money. Not when May-He-Drop-Dead-Soon Ethan had explicitly warned what might be found inside the container couldn't be promised as being in any kind of good shape.

"Gaaaahhh!" inarticulately snarled Xander, stomping around once in a small circle inside the garage. He finally halted in his tracks to glare at what had clearly been about to be thrown away before some feeble-minded sucker walked into a thief's den to ask for a cheap Halloween costume. Cheap? Two lousy _cents_ would've been too much for those grubby things!

Becoming aware of how hard his temples were pounding, Xander wildly wondered if he was old enough to have a stroke. Trying to get himself back under control, the wary boy sidled toward the pungent heap of garments. If he saw the slightest twitch from those things, there'd instantly be an Xander-shaped hole in the air, another one in the side door into the house, and maybe a final aperture on the far wall of his bedroom. Next would be a few Molotov cocktails tossed into the garage to rid the earth of things man was not meant to know.

Picking up a rusty shovel leaning against the washing machine at the rear of the garage, Xander gingerly poked at the clothes. A few moments' more shifting work with the shovel head spread out on the floor all of the stained attire. He kept his head averted during this; no way was he risking suffocation or brain damage from the remarkable stink arising from the disturbed pile.

Eventually, Xander had it all sorted from the left to the right on the floor into what he thought was a pretty reasonable kind of wearability array. Everything on the left was deserving of nothing less than a full day's complete immersion in hydrochloric acid. For starters. After that, the ghastliness level grudgingly descended to those few items on the furthest right which were in no worse condition than being worn for several years by some homeless guy really down on his luck.

Xander grumpily checked out the latter. He spotted a weatherbeaten black cowboy hat, Western-style boots, and a faded khaki leather coat having a bulge inside this. Still holding the shovel, Xander used the tip of this to gingerly flip open the front of the coat. The teenager blinked at seeing inside there a ratty leather belt with an attached holster. Protruding from the top of the holster was the stock of a revolver, with the hammer and part of the cylinder also instantly recognizable.

Xander smiled for the first time in several minutes. Okay, he still wanted to clobber a certain tea-drinking asshole with his shovel, but at least Ethan hadn't lied about there being a toy gun in the stuff Xander had bought. Putting the shovel back where it'd been, Xander stepped forward to crouch down by the coat and the holster inside the shabby jacket. He reached towards the curved part of the gun, curling his fingers around the stock to grip and remove it from of the holster while at the same time standing up. The gun came out of its leather holder so smoothly that Xander almost lost his balance and frantically pinwheeled his arms to keep from falling backwards. Only his panicky grip on the gun kept it from slipping from his clutch and be sent flying across the garage.

Once sure he'd stay on his feet, Xander's attention was then abruptly caught by what he was still holding. It was just a half of a gun. This clearly fake weapon ended in a smooth stub midway where a real revolver would've continued with the rest of the cylinder holding the bullets and then the long barrel. It couldn't be anything else but a sham replica meant only for display in the holster, rather than being removed and used for imaginary shoot-'em-ups.

At this point, if he'd in truth possessed a workable gun, Xander would've been more than willing to put Ethan the fucker in his sights and merrily blast away at the fleeing shopkeeper. That guy had done it to Xander _again!_

The infuriated teenager now inwardly vowed that revenge would indeed be his. Damn right; this couldn't be allowed to pass, so what exactly was he gonna do about it in return against Ethan? Obviously a mere soaping of this businessman's windows wouldn't cut it. Neither would such minor vengeance as hurling eggs at the storefront or TP'ing the whole place. Nope, gotta come up with something truly deserving for a Halloween prank on Bend-Over-And-Kiss-Your-Ass-Goodbye Ethan.

Xander glanced thoughtfully at the shabby garments lying on the garage floor. Right now, the whole justification for long-ago Lexington and Concord and the rest of the Revolutionary War was probably tittering to himself over ripping off someone who just wanted a cut-rate costume. Okay, then, figure out some way to use those clothes - _after_ sensibly running them a couple dozen times through the washer and dryer - as a good start on his payback. Sooo….who did he know from cowboy movies or television shows that could best be described as showing off this really bedraggled outfit? Even if he got them kinda clean again to wear, they'd still be well beyond unkempt, with no time before Halloween night for any sort of mending or repair. That didn't leave many choices-

A marvelous inspiration immediately burst into existence from Xander's memory.

"Oh, yeah, _he'll _do!"

* * *

"Howdy, ma'am. You shore look purtier than a frisky calf out in the lower pasture on a fine spring day!"

Joyce Summers' mouth fell open at this exceedingly peculiar greeting addressed to her from the figure standing outside the front door of her home just before sunset. This male person's drawling voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he was keeping his head tilted forward so the lowered brim of the battered black cowboy hat worn by the visitor completely concealed his face above chin level.

A very puzzled woman about to leave Sunnydale on a last-minute business trip dubiously glanced up and down at this presumed Halloween trick-or-treater in his Old West themed costume. A long, knee-length light brown coat had a shiny metal star pinned on the front of this jacket. Over the waist of the coat, there was a leather belt having a holstered gun. Completing the ensemble was a pair of pointy-toed riding boots.

Each part of this dilapidated apparel dating from the nineteenth century gave the distinct impression their owner had experienced up close and personal a few cattle stampedes and the occasional Indian attack. Not to mention joyously participating in every single saloon brawl filmed during a hundred years of cowboy movies.

Just as Joyce inwardly admitted defeat concerning her caller's identity, the hat was lifted up, revealing the features of a widely-grinning Xander Harris. This teenager also bore on his smirking face a black eyepatch covering the boy's left eye, with this protective covering cut out from a spare bandanna he'd earlier found in the front pocket of his coat.

The unaware mother of a blonde Slayer shrieked with laughter at recognizing right away who was on her doorstop. Still giggling, Joyce managed, "Good evening, Marshal. I'm glad you're here. The girls will be down in about a minute in their own costumes. Would you care to wait in the parlor for them?"

Genially nodding, along with giving a polite tug at his hat brim into a smiling Joyce's direction, Xander stepped towards the door. Before he'd even finished his first stride, the supposed one-eyed lawman painfully cracked his left shoulder against the doorframe. Rebounding from the door, a wincing Xander rubbed this aching part of his body. He determinedly ignored the suppressed snickers of Joyce trying to be polite but yet failing in this. Taking a deep breath, Xander reached up with his right hand to flip back the patch, which revealed a perfectly intact but slightly teary left eye.

Now that he could see with his normal vision, Xander scooted over in his boots a bit to the right to get into the proper position. Afterwards, the eyepatch was restored to its original use. Giving a proper cowboy hitch to his belt, along with balefully gazing at the door, this time Xander successfully maneuvered his way past both the portal and the woman standing there in the hallway watching it all with growing amusement.

In his odd gait maintained throughout this peace officer's entrance into the Sunnydale house, Xander's good mood of a mere moment ago over making a woman he liked very much laugh out loud instantly returned at hearing the stifled sounds of additional mirth from Mrs. Summers coming from behind Xander. Clearly, she was also a John Wayne fan who appreciated a pretty good imitation of that movie star's famous walk.

Stopping by the stairs leading to the upper floor of Buffy's home, U.S. Marshal Reuben J. Cogburn, better known to his few friends and numerous enemies as 'Rooster' Cogburn waited to escort his ladies on this Halloween night.


	3. Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Xander was hunched over in his seat at the Sunnydale High library's main table, cradling a throbbing skull as if it were the most fragile egg in existence. Alone in the book-filled room, this teenager was also probably the only person in the school at this precise moment, given he was here hours before classes started. Exactly like he'd intended. Xander needed a safe hiding place to simply sit and think about how much trouble he was in now. Which was, oh, gee, just guessing here…a _lot._

If he had to pinpoint exactly when it'd started going wrong, a good instance as any other would've been right before leaving the school to escort those trick-or-treaters around Sunnydale. Up to then, he'd actually been having a great time pretending to be Rooster Cogburn. Strolling around the hallways filled with excited kids, Xander robustly channeled the Duke in this actor's hilarious 1969 Oscar-winning role. It was really cool how many smiles he got from everyone there, especially the grade-school boys and girls in their costumes who might've not specifically known who he was but still found this rascally but heroic Western lawman a funny dude. Their parents, though, they dug it the most, especially when Rooster vowed to them their cute little monsters would surely drive him to drink, but he'd still bring 'em back safe and sound.

Right in the middle of a particularly entertaining tall tale (complete with sound effects) explaining how he lost his eye in a ferocious, bare-handed battle with a dozen grizzly bears, Xander was interrupted. A very familiar and utterly despised voice came from behind him demanding, "_Harris!_ How dare you come in here dressed like some sort of cowboy tramp, and then behave so rowdily in front of these children?"

Majestically turning around, Rooster Cogburn directed his most evil scowl at a very put-out Principal Snyder. The marshal then said slowly and clearly, "It ain't any business of yours, ya little, bald, puke-faced, whiny piss-ant!"

Absolute silence descended in the corridors of Sunnydale High.

* * *

In his library seat the day after, Xander's already tremendous headache somehow increased, as if it was a mere foretaste of the infinite suffering Snyder was gonna inflict upon him for that. He seriously doubted this principal would ever buy the pathetic excuse he'd been so intensely play-acting Marshal Cogburn's personality around then that Xander had unthinkingly let his mouth run away with such a bellicose, foul-mouthed, insulting answer.

Nope, not with the truly deadly look sent his way by the older man, who'd next stalked away without another word past the other fascinated kids and their parents. Apparently, only the presence of these people had restrained Snyder from blowing up right on the spot and getting even against Xander. By, say, putting him in detention for the next couple of years. This doom was only delayed, though. Right now a certain troll was for sure polishing his bare scalp with a bath towel while plotting how to best torment a high school student who amazingly managed a few hours later to get into even _bigger_ trouble.

All because of some shithead he soon learned had the name of Ethan Rayne, who'd thought it jolly good fun, don't you know, to rig up a whole shop of Halloween costumes for changing by Chaos magic the wearers of these into their real-life characters. Xander slumped down in his chair as the rest of the appalling memories came inexorably rushing back…

* * *

Probably the most maddening thing about the whole experience for Xander had been being a totally helpless participant throughout it all. Oh, he was definitely there, watching and experiencing everything from elsewhere in his mind, but having no control whatsoever concerning who he'd transformed into without any warning. One second, he'd been escorting his kids, and in the next instant, Rooster Cogburn had been bewilderedly trying to figure out what the blistering fuck was going on.

It had to be admitted, the explanation this dumbfounded lawman eventually came up with pretty much satisfied Rooster for the rest of the night. Basically, he was having one hell of a thoroughgoing attack of the delirium tremens. This straightforwardly accounted for being stuck in some skinny kid's body on the dark streets of a very strange town and its even weirder folks. It even justified the soon-encountered ghost girl undoubtedly the apparition of a local young soiled dove given her scandalous attire - or lack of it - who kept calling him by someone else's unfamiliar name. Once the man rationalized to himself sooner or later he'd wake up and be done with this foolishness after finding another bottle of cheap whiskey to swill, he essentially decided to just go along with whatever his imagination led him into tonight. At the very least, it seemed to be entertainingly different from the usual fifty-foot rattlesnakes and the purple schoolmarms who kept caning him until he correctly spelled 'precipitous'.

In fact, Rooster began to grow more and more proud of how inventively his alcohol-fueled fantasies presented themselves. He'd never really thought of it before, but a magical gun which forever held ammunition was indeed something Rooster always secretly wanted. And now, it was right here in his hand, blasting away at anything which moved within range. In that too, this reach of his bullets was also incredible. He was aiming at and hitting targets well beyond the usual limits of his rifle, which only made him happier.

It was challenging to boot, especially since before the very first shot, the intangible prostitute yammered at the top of her voice that some of those outlandish creatures about to attack them were in reality innocent people. Well, now, that just made it even more interesting. After a dozen or so creasing shots were fired with superlative skill at the sides and tops of their heads to knock them out with later on nothing worse than an aching cranium for these stunned foes, the ghost girl shut up.

Not for long, though. A minute later, while Rooster was having some more fun by shooting out the streetlights, he got interrupted in this pastime by the dead nymph du prairie, who identified herself as Willow or suchlike. She straightaway insisted he help her find a missing friend. Somewhat intrigued as to what his daydreams were going to produce next, Rooster amiably agreed. That's when he met the spoiled little brat called Buffy.

Dressed up in a fancy dance-hall gown, this unruly, back-talking girl either put on tremendously snooty airs or she screamed the house down at the least little thing. Finally losing his patience and temper with this stuck-up little bitch, Rooster holstered his pistol, grabbed Buffy, and he easily threw her onto his shoulder. Damn, even if this was some sort of boozy hallucination, it was purely a pleasure to again be almost as hale and hearty as he remembered from his younger days.

Rooster's enjoyment of his unexpected good health was quickly ruined by the girl he was carrying protesting this at full volume, kicking and bellering like she didn't deserve it! A few hard smacks with the palm of his hand against her bottom quieted down his burden surprisingly swiftly. Turning to where the other red-haired pretty girl was staring at him with eyes now as wide as saucers, Rooster testily asked if she knew a place where they could go to get away from the uproar around them. Speechlessly nodding, Willow had taken their small group to a house a few blocks away.

On their short journey, they picked up another young woman, who was being chased by some sort of half-man, half-dog animal. Rooster promptly sent this hairy monster packing with a couple of bullets whizzing past its pointed ears. For some reason the girl blatantly flaunting her red-light district profession by dressing up as a painted cat found it really odd Rooster didn't know her.

*Honey,* the man lustily reflected then in the supposed privacy (unaware of who else was in there) of his head, *Just lemme put down this loco heifer, and I'll be most appreciative in getting better acquainted with you.*

Abruptly struck by a truly lecherous inspiration without letting the others know, a deadpan Rooster next claimed he needed to guard their backs on the rest of the way. So, the marshal put the others in front and he walked behind the two girls discussing with each other incomprehensible stuff like Costume Town and Ethan and other tedious details, all while thoroughly admiring the view of two damned fine rears.

The furious glowers he got from Miss Cat and Miss Spook just when they arrived at the door and went inside plainly showed he'd been caught at this, which bothered Rooster not at all. The lawman instead casually dropped his female load onto the nearest chair in the house, and he made a beeline for the liquor cabinet. For the first time ever in one of his spells, Reuben J. Cogburn was going to get a chance to drink during it! A few guzzles later of the good stuff he rarely had a chance to swaller, a more relaxed Rooster let out a window-rattling belch. He affably turned his attention back to across the room at where some sort of conversation carried out by the redhead and her brunette friend into a strange-looking thingamajig had just ended.

*'Bout time,* thought a man feeling another kind of urge now upon him.

Leering at three feminine visages turning his way, Rooster enthusiastically proposed he and any one of them who were interested go find the nearest bed and start busily making the beast with two backs. On second thought, they were all invited in whatever combination thereof. Yeah, the ghost girl might not be able to do anything but watch, but that was still okay, yessiree bob.

Seeing the rather confused look on the fancy-dress girl's face over hearing this, Rooster methodically demonstrated his meaning with various obscene gestures until he was sure his intentions were clear to the evident untouched gal. A mite peculiar that, her having no experience of any kind. They all seemed to be the same age as his new sixteen-year-old body, which made gown-lady and the rest of 'em husband-high, so how come she didn't know nothing and the other two whores were glaring at him?

Oh, well, who said his delirium tremens had to make sense? Just as long as he got to enjoy himself, which he sure as shootin' was-

At that point, an intruder rushing through the front door of the house made the worse mistake of this trespasser's life. Fer Chrissakes, you _don't _interrupt a man possibly about to get lucky beyond belief!

So, naturally, Rooster Cogburn drew his pistol with lightning-quick reflexes despite being a goodly bit plastered, and he shot that pomaded nancy-boy right between the eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

In the Sunnydale High library, a blissful smile slowly appeared on Xander's face. Even the continuous pounding in his head lessened slightly at contemplating once more the cherished memory of Angel's first meeting with Rooster Cogburn. It soon got even better…

* * *

Rooster welcomed the opportunity for another nip of some really fine booze during all the fuss around the front door. The liquor slid down his throat so smoothly the lawman took it completely in stride how that rude gatecrasher who'd just taken a bullet directly in the head then rose to his feet while shaking off the ghost girl trying to talk to him. As for the cat whore, she merely watched it all with a very sardonic look on her beautiful face.

Ignoring the minor fact he should've been fit for nothing at present save for a quick trip to the local bone yard in a coffin, the stranger marched up to where Rooster was draining his half-empty bottle. Getting up right into the lawman's face, the other man furiously roared at him, "Xander, you idiot, give me that gun! Buffy, why on earth did you let him carry a real weapon? This stupid little shite just showed how hopeless he is, having no idea how to safely use-"

While still in full angry flow, the shouting nincompoop turned his head to direct those last venomous words towards a genuinely confused girl. She shrank back in her chair with increasing fright at the noisy man dressed all in black, who seemed quite willing to go on berating this aristocratic young lady. Which meant he'd completely taken his attention away from the teenage nuisance in the remarkably shabby coat, who'd had more than enough at that point from this distracted loudmouth standing next to him.

_Crunch!_

Without batting an eye or otherwise giving any kind of advance warning to his newest enemy, Rooster had lifted with blinding speed his hand still holding a just-fired gun. Judging it to a nicety, the man with a black eyepatch rammed the scorching barrel of his revolver halfway up the right nostril of a most imprudent feller.

Instantly halting in his harangue at the sudden incredible agony radiating from his nose, Angel froze in utter shock, to then hear an irritated, "How many goddamn times do I haveta say it? I _ain't_ this Xander kid! Also, even if yer part a' my DT's, ya don't sass like that a properly sworn-in officer of the law! Either mind yer manners, or get ready to fill yore hand, ya sonofabitch!"

Not daring to move anything but his widened eyes, the vampire glanced down with these. He then stared in real horror at the whitening trigger finger clearly about to fire an enormous handgun in the next second. An action which would undoubtedly blow Angel's head off his shoulders at once. His demonic body could take an incredible amount of punishment, as seen by easily surviving a single bullet several moments ago, even if this round had gone directly through his brain. It was true this had been both painful and disorientating, but only some sort of extensive destruction to that specific part of the vampire's animated corpse would finally end his magical unlife.

A fired pistol shoved deep inside his sinus cavities during this, accompanied by a blast of furnance-hot gases emitting from the muzzle at the same time, would most certainly accomplish the extinction of Angel. In a split second, the proper course of action was decided by a cowardly demon: apologize without delay in the most groveling manner possible. He could always get his revenge on Xander (or whoever this was) later, but right now, beg for mercy!

In a trembling, craven whine, Angel babbled, "Sir, I'm terribly sorry! Please forgive me, and I promise never to do it again! Now, would you be so kind as to carefully remove your gun- AAAAAHHHH!"

Not only had a smirking Rooster roughly yanked out the embedded barrel from his screaming victim's nose in total disregard of that pleading request, but the gun had been given a brutal twist along the way. Just to remind nancy-boy who was the boss here.

Things quickly quieted down after that, with the various people there becoming occupied with their own affairs. The two young whores promptly hustled that yellow-belly away to the most remote corner of the room. They soon commenced a rapid, low-voiced discussion among themselves. After a minute or so, all while tenderly touching at his aching face, the man in black was sending incredulous glances to where a Western movie character steadily worked his way through the rest of the liquor cabinet.

Any thoughts of again confronting the booted maniac were quickly dismissed by a sulking Angel. This might have something to do with seeing how Harris in his new personae nonchalantly kept his right hand free and near his now-holstered gun. Seemingly not paying any attention to the others across the room, this boy continuously using his left hand to drink from numerous bottles also made sure to face in the vampire's general direction.

Indeed, Rooster was dividing his attention between appreciating this vodka stuff and staying on guard against nancy-boy trying something really dumb. That accounted for having a few minutes pass before he noticed the last of their company was gone from the room. The law enforcement officer felt a wave of unwelcome sobriety abruptly wash over him. That conceited little pest hadn't departed the house through the front door or gone upstairs; he'd have seen her do either of these. Which left only one place where she could be-

Behind Rooster in the kitchen, there came the sounds of splintering wood from a smashed-through back door. This was immediately followed by a girl's terrified scream. Still howling in fright at the top of her lungs, the young lady who'd previously gone in there to be alone came bursting out from the rear room while sprinting at her best speed in a long dress and dancing pumps. Considering the pursuing nightmare with its fangs and claws menacingly displayed, the girl named Buffy did have good cause for her extreme panic at the moment.

Rooster, on the other hand, calmly waited for Buffy to pass him by, even taking the time to put down on a side table the bottle he'd been swigging from a second before. This motion caught the attention of the creature reaching with clutching talons for its original prey. Slowing down slightly in its chase, the monster instead lashed out with a swing of a deadly arm, fully confident it'd tear out the throat of this puny human.

However, a veteran of decades of violence moved even faster than his abnormal opponent. Rooster's pistol materialized in his right hand, and his other flattened palm fanned the hammer of the revolver multiple times. This was done so swiftly the numerous shots running together sounded like a continuous roar. Four rounds pumped right into this enemy's skull messily destroyed that cranium. Even before the now-deceased demon hit the floor, another four rapid gunshots struck the falling body in the chest, directly at heart level. Just in case.

Warily eyeing the dissolving corpse on the carpet until becoming satisfied it was fully dead and no longer dangerous, Rooster looked up at where the other three people across the room were gawking at him-

A supremely disgusted expression instantly appeared upon the youthful features of someone an awestruck Willow, Cordelia, and Angel had known up to tonight as Xander Harris. Following where the teenager's displeased glare shown by this riled one-eyed boy stopped, the rest of the house's occupants saw their dwelling's front door was now wide open. Which, if it was actually needed, was a confirmation another Chaos-affected high school student had just dashed outside to face alone the Halloween dangers of Sunnydale.

For the next couple of minutes, further evidence was provided for the Scooby Gang that their companion _wasn't_ a modern-day California slacker by the volcanic eruption of Southern-accented vile profanity being hollered at them by Rooster Cogburn. Wincing at some of the things they were called, the trio still sheepishly acknowledged to themselves they really should've stopped Buffy in her flight from this unknowing girl's home. Now, the group had to go search for her throughout a most perilous night.

Rooster wasn't at all thrilled by having those ninnies come along with him, but there seemed to be no other alternative. The house's wrecked back door meant anything else could now easily get inside to threaten those who remained behind. If they had to leave to find another safe place, everyone might as well as participate in looking for Buffy. It was then that what's-his-name, Angel, came out (all while sharing a very significant glance with the other girls) with a very odd admission in that he could track down Miss Prissy by her smell alone.

Feeling decidedly put out by his delirium tremens at this time going into genuinely loony territory, Rooster contemptuously glowered at the nancy-boy before snorting, "That so? Even over the stink coming from the barrel of perfumed Frenchy hair grease ya poured onto yore head tonight?"

For some reason, this irascible remark promptly made the ghost girl and the cat girl giggle together in unison. In turn, this mirth drew to them a definitely furious look from Angel-cheeks. Switching his wrathful expression back to where Rooster was ostentatiously resting a hand upon the stock of his holstered weapon, the other male's pasty-white face went momentarily blank. At last, Angel snappishly gritted, "_Yes. _Now, can we go? Every second we're wasting here means Buffy's getting further away."

Well, this was true enough, Rooster mentally grudged. Not that he was gonna let the nancy-boy think just because he might somehow be useful, the marshal would particularly trust him in the slightest. Jerking a left thumb in the direction of the ajar front door, an extremely cynical lawman drawled, "Fine, ya go first. But understand me, ya do anything I don't care fer, and yore soon gonna regret it. Whatever ya get around to with other fellers, I'm damn sure ya really don't wanna have up yore butt a passel of forty-four gauge slugs. All right, people, let's head out!"

An U.S. marshal then shooed through the front door both a spluttering man in black evidently about to pitch a massive apoplectic fit and two girls desperately trying to control their laughter. This small group then left the house, not knowing that several miles distant from where they were, Rupert Giles was also on his way to a certain costume shop.


	5. Chapter 5

A while later, Rooster grumpily witnessed yet another demonstration of Angel's so-called tracking skills. The federal law officer's fraying temper might have something to do with what nancy-boy had preposterously done at every single street corner for the last mile. In particular, the fella stopped there, lifted his head, and actually _sniffed_ at the air like he was some goddamn bloodhound. After this, their little band was led straight on or into a different direction, all without any evidence they were making real progress in their search for a missing girl.

Rather, they'd soon left behind the neighborhoods with their houses and walked deeper into an unlit warehouse district which seemed totally deserted save for themselves. Angel hadn't said anything, but the girls began nervously looking around. As for Rooster himself, all of his hard-earned instincts were loudly yelling in his head that they were not only being watched from the surrounding darkness, but whoever was out there were now following them. Trudging along at the rear of their group, Rooster didn't give any outer sign of his awareness of this, but he began getting ready for whatever action he deemed necessary. That definitely included shooting to pieces their asshole guide...

Just when the four people walked into a large, shadowy alleyway where they'd been led by Angel, over a dozen misshapen figures shambled out from ahead. This caused them to be shown by slightly better light, which unfortunately revealed the true hideousness of the beings now standing in a semicircle before the quartet. Rooster halted in his tracks while drawing his gun, but rather than opening the ball right away, he decided to hold off for now.

Eyeing the silent crowd of monsters at rest up there, the lawman ignored how the girls promptly stepped backwards to huddle just behind him, peeking out in real horror past his shoulders. It really wasn't the best time to tell 'em he'd heard a couple more ambushers getting into position at their rear.

Regarding nancy-boy, he'd also stopped a few steps further on and a little off to the right. This gave Rooster the opportunity to see the side of that possible betrayer's face, but he wasn't openly gloating or otherwise looking pleased at getting the others into this mess. Instead, Angel was glaring not just at the monsters, but beyond them, as if he could see past those ugly critters now parting in the middle to make way for someone coming through the back of the crowd.

"Hullo, poofter," a mocking voice drifted through the air from deeper in the alley. "Fancy meeting you here. And you brought along snacks for everyone! Isn't that nice of him, you lot?"

Various evil snickers and laughs of malicious amusement came from the massed monsters while their evident leader now swaggered into sight. Stopping at the forefront of the crowd, a slim man in a black leather coat smirked around even as he securely held close to himself the girl named Buffy being forced to come along. An encircling strong arm around her shoulders pinned the girl's own arms to her sides, and the man's hand was firmly clamped over her mouth, suppressing all but the faintest sound of her frightened whimpers through his fingers. These same digits now wrenched around the girl's head so that she was forced to look up at him.

An instant later, Buffy's pitiful cries of protest cut off in sheer frozen terror when her captor's handsome face incredibly shifted into a ghastly mask of ridged lines, glowing yellow eyes, and fangs. There was an sudden pause in the alley, with all there waiting for what would come next.

A grim drawl broke the silence. "Sonny, yer uglier'n the south end of a northbound broke-down Missouri mule what's gonna drop dead from suppurating piles any minute yet."

Spike balefully glowered at the familiar bloke in the cowboy hat and eyepatch who was pointing a soddin' big pistol right at the head of the vampire he'd just mortally insulted. Still, a quick glance around then at his mob avidly observing everything told Spike he'd better take back control of the situation seemingly about to get away from him.

Declaring loudly so that all could hear, Spike scoffed, "Well, well. The Slayer's bleedin' lapdog thinks just because he's got a gun tonight, we're all in trouble now? Maybe when he stuck that thing in his pants to make up for what else's missing in there, it made him brave enough to come over and use it to push everyone around." The vampire showed all of his pointed fangs in a supremely disdainful sneer to finish off this taunt.

Spike then derisively called out to the other pain in the arse looked so damned outraged, "Oi, Angel love, did you perhaps forget to tell Harris that guns don't work on us? Or more likely, you decided to keep quiet and let him get killed so you had a free and clear chance to break in this fine filly here first. After all, it wouldn't do for her to learn Mr. Sheriff was the one to bully you into taking him to the Master's cave when the Slayer decided to off herself. Me, I would've loved seeing your face when a mere human ruined the prophecy and brought back Buffy Summers from death by giving her the kiss of life. Got to say, I hope the little bugger took the chance to sneak in a wee bit of tongue then."

Damme, but it was proving to be the best Halloween ever, Spike mentally congratulated himself. Even if Dru had driven him out of their shared crypt tonight with her endless caterwauling of "The hard old man, forged in war and blood, he shall rule over the pair!" and other baffling remarks, this soon resulted in capturing a completely defenceless Slayer. And now, from the looks of things, he'd managed to provoke Angel into as close as this tiresomely-brooding souled vampire could ever get to experiencing an actual stroke.

Gleefully watching how his former comrade in torture and slaughter seethed in sullen silence over something this other demon positively hadn't wanted to be known, Spike next heard from another of the Slayer's friends, the scarlet-tressed bint. She incredulously blurted over the unmoving cowboy's shoulder, "But Xander never said anything-! How come you know about it in the first place, if that really happened?"

He was in such a good mood at the moment that an amiable Spike glanced over at the young woman in that lovely revealing outfit, and he jovially answered her, "Darlin', this is Sunnydale, remember? Anywhere on the Hellmouth, there's always bleedin' someone - or _something_ - in the shadows watching with a half-dozen eyes all that's going on. The next thing you know, they're blabbing about it at Willy's for the first bloke to buy them a pint of whatever they're having, either booze or blood."

Spike abruptly reminded himself he wasn't here to have a friendly chat with those walking happy meals. Getting back to business once more, the blond vampire still in game face ordered, "All right, you scum back there, grab those three! The rest of you, take Angel! Don't kill any of 'em yet, though! I want those soddin' pests to watch every minute of what I do first to the Slayer!"

Grinning sadistically as his demonic forces rushed forwards, Spike swiftly lowered his malformed face to the tear-stained visage of the girl in his grip. He gave one long lick of his tongue upon her forehead. At the very touch of this violation, Buffy went into such a degree of hysterics that the only free portion of her body, her lower half, twisted itself up in the air, both legs uselessly flailing all the while.

Which mean a certain lawman now had an absolutely clear target.

With perfect accuracy, Rooster Cogburn shot Spike the vampire in the balls.

Whirling around even before a screaming undead Englishman had started falling to the alley floor along with the unscathed hostage taken down with him, Rooster next blasted away at every single one of the other enemies who'd been at their backs. Ignoring the cat girl who'd sensibly dropped to the asphalt at his first round, the one-eyed man finished off the last of those foes with two bullets sent harmlessly through the shocked ghost girl's intangible chest. These shots had a much more fatal effect on the demon's face right behind the redhead.

Still moving in his spin, Rooster completed another half-circle and he started fanning his revolver, coolly aiming from the far left side of the crowd of advancing monsters and working inwards. Every bullet hit its mark, smashing through slit-pupil eyes and scaled torsos to burst through unearthly bodies and exit in fountains of multi-colored blood. As the remaining monsters on the right skidded to a halt in unison and began gaping in disbelief at what'd just happened, Rooster ceased his rapid fire rather than also eradicting them. Only because of what else had suddenly caught his attention.

Nancy-boy had rushed forwards on his own, directly at the yowling kidnapper lying there and holding onto his perforated crotch with both hands. When the man in black bent over to reach for the girl on the ground struggling to get away, Rooster saw with instant rage that the guy he'd been suspicious about all night now had a warty, deformed face. He looked _exactly_ like the other one, who'd just threatened a helpless female hostage.

Again with perfect accuracy, Rooster Cogburn shot Angel the vampire in _his _balls.


	6. Chapter 6

In the next split second (suggesting to any neutral observer the exceedingly suspicious occurrence of an irreverently-timed celestial rimshot), a hurled double-faced statuette of Janus shattered into numerous pieces upon the floor of a costume shop elsewhere in Sunnydale. Rupert Giles, busy with other things, never noticed how both sides of the small sculpture were now widely grinning in shared satisfied delight.

* * *

Swaying in his Western boots, Xander Harris looked over the stub of the replica revolver held out in his right hand at shoulder level.

Okaaaayyyy… There was Buffy getting up on her feet in her noblewoman's costume and then chasing away down the alley a thoroughly diminished gang of fleeing demons. Somehow managing to outsprint all of his pursuers, a bent-over Spike still clutching at his nether regions and doing an ultra-fast waddle was at the forefront of this departing monstrous crowd.

Meanwhile, a sniveling Angel curled up on the alley floor. He resembled a black-clad ball of vampiric flesh, enfolding every bit of his awareness around the supreme agony in this former Scourge of Europe's groin.

Glancing over his shoulder and from under the brim of his cowboy hat, Xander noticed Wils standing there and distractedly patting at her now-solid body, all while gaping at the preposterous scene before her. Next to the upright girl, Cordy was lying flat on her stomach on the stained asphalt, with several more rips in her cat costume revealing even further flashes of nubile flesh. The brunette's eyes were firmly squeezed shut, with her lips moving in what might be thankful prayers. Or far more likely, an impassioned vow to make _someone_ soon pay for this, with their very last breath if necessary.

In a blur of panicked speed, Xander tossed away his fake weapon and spun around before running like hell. He was a few steps past Willow and Cordelia, even making it out of the alley in his headlong dash, before the truncated gun clattered to a stop on the ground. Without stopping at all for the next couple of blocks, the battered headgear, the eyepatch, the coat, and the boots were also separately discarded every hundred yards or so. This last abandonment of his Halloween costume included hopping along on the sidewalk while frantically pulling off his footwear, one boot at a time.

Eventually slowing down from sheer exhaustion, a gasping Xander continued to trudge through the Sunnydale night solely dressed in his socks, t-shirt, and jeans. Any thoughts of going home to futilely hide under the bedcovers from his upcoming horrible, short-lived fate were put aside when Xander came across a young trick-or-treater dazedly wandering around in the dark streets.

For the next half-hour, the teenage boy determinedly gathered up all of those lost costumed lambs, inwardly cringing when a few of the kids complained about their really bad headaches. Fortunately, this was all the evidence or extent of anyone's injuries, perhaps due to the only random benefit of the Chaos magic cast tonight throughout the town. Another kind of enchantment shortly presented itself, when Xander delivered the kids back into their parents' care at the high school.

It was a remarkably subdued occasion, with just about everyone there bearing the glazed expressions of undergoing a serious case of Sunnydale Syndrome. Xander was just too tired to care all that much. Plus, his own head started hurting then, and the agony in his skull seemed to exponentially increase at every heartbeat. Seeing off the last of the innocent victims of a really weird Hellmouth night, Xander plodded through the now-deserted school corridors towards the library where the Scooby Gang normally met. Hopefully, there'd be some aspirin in Giles' desk to help with his personal headache.

It wasn't until he was rooting around in the G-man's drawers (*Oh, yuch! Think of something else, dude!*), that Xander groaned out loud over finally figuring the cause for the current intense hammering in his skull. Among all the gonzo magic tonight, there had to be some actual, physical side-effects, and one of these was surely in reaction to all the booze Marshal Cogburn had happily knocked back mere hours ago in Buffy's house. That lawman might've disappeared from his head now, but he'd left behind every drop of this alcohol in Xander's stomach. In yet another wonky example of him and the mojo stuff going wrong, he'd somehow bypassed the drunk stage and instead went right into hangover country.

Gloomily dry-swallowing a few aspirin, Xander sank into Giles' desk chair. After an unknown amount of time blankly staring ahead over the desktop, Xander's eyes fell onto the phone there. Coming to a quick decision, the young man grabbed the receiver, and he held this to his ear while dialing a very familiar home number. It didn't take more than a half-dozen rings before an apartment phone was picked off the hook, and Xander at last learned everything about Ethan Rayne.

Among this lad's increasingly nasty remarks about having friends like that and not telling the Scoobies even if you hadn't heard about them for years, Giles hastily attempted to divert this irritated discussion by asking whether Xander and the others had fully recovered from tonight's events. At the unexpected news the Watcher hadn't yet been contacted by Buffy, Wils, or Cordy, Xander dolefully fended off this librarian in turn with a resigned, "Oh, they'll be more than glad to tell you, and then blame it all on me."

"What are you talking about?" came as his reaction from a bewildered Giles.

Xander just sighed. "Never mind. Look, when they call, don't try to hide you know where I am. Might as well get it over with. I'll be waiting in the library. So long, G-man, and if it makes you any happier, it'll for sure be the last time you ever hear that nickname from me."

He hung up the phone and then left it off the hook right in the middle of an alarmed "Xan-?" from the older man. Giving another, much more gusty sigh, this doomed boy luched onto his feet and he went over to take his usual chair at the library table. A guy might as well spend the last few remaining moments on earth in his regular spot. Xander leaned forward, rested his elbows on the tabletop, and he held his aching cranium.

* * *

Well, that was it for his memories, the seated teenager in a silent room filled with books despondently thought. The girls were taking their time, probably to draw out the suspense as to when they'd tear him into tiny Xander-bits-

In the middle of his depression, an incredible spike of pain stabbled through Xander's brain, making everything else he'd endured lately seem like a pinprick. He moaned in genuine distress, actually feeling something tear deep inside his mind. Until, an entirely new incident then happened to the stunned high school student. This was a loud, triumphant, inner roar which was truly unmistakable to any American moviegoer:

*_GODDAMN,_ boy, but ya got one mighty hard head! I been fighting my way through it all on my own the last coupla minutes!*

Frozen in utter shock, Xander continued to hunch down in his chair, even without realizing nothing hurt in his head any more. Abruptly straightening up at the table, this young man wildly looked around the library, but he saw no sign of whoever had just…spoken to him in what sounded exactly like-

Xander whimpered out loud, "Oh, _no!_"

*Oh, yeah,* mentally chuckled Rooster Cogburn.


	7. Chapter 7

Much later, Xander assured himself he really couldn't be blamed for then indignantly demanding to the otherwise deserted library, "Hey, why are you still here? Everybody else went totally back to normal when Giles broke the magic statue at Ethan's costume shop!"

*Kid, how the hell should _I_ know?* answered an equally frustrated inner voice. Marshal Cogburn went on in his growing irascibility, *It ain't like I planned on visiting this crazy town in the first goddamn place, much less being stuck in yer head right this minute!*

"Okay, okay," grumbled Xander under his breath. He glowered at the bookshelves at the far side of the room past the center table where he was seated, until his mouth ran away from him again. "Feel free to leave anytime…"

It wasn't until after trailing off in mid-sentence when Xander understood too late exactly how dumb this sounded. Helping along that horrified realization was a genuinely perceptible mood of absolute disbelief coming from someone else now in his brain. This was soon followed by an extremely sarcastic growl, *Why, certainly. I'll be gone quicker than an alderman pocketing a bribe. Just let me slip out the back door without a single fare-thee-well… That is, IF I CAN FIND THE DAMN THING, YA LITTLE TURD!*

Xander cringed in his chair. He uselessly clapped both hands over his ears while the last furious bellow echoed through the chambers of his mindscape. Remaining frozen with his fingers still held there against the sides of his head, this unfortunately failed to halt Rooster Cogburn's ensuing, obscenity-laden, internal tirade:

*Lissen, ya stupid peckerhead, even if there was a real chance of me and ya parting our ways, where the fuck am I gonna go? I'm damn well no ghost like yer red-haired friend, but I'm also sure as shit not gonna survive without staying in a flesh-and-blood body! Guess who got picked for that? Oh, and while yer at it, try to get a handle on how much I care whether ya like it or not!*

That last part made Xander suddenly lose his own temper. Bringing down both hands to angrily slam his now-clenched fists hard onto the library tabletop, he glared into the distance. Xander then shouted at the top of his lungs with matching wrath, "No, _you_ listen, you half-blind, fatso, boozer! If I gotta, I'll grab the nearest hammer and clobber myself with it to get rid of you! That's better than you deserve, and no matter how much it hurts, it'll still beat carrying around in my head someone with all the charm of a rabid skunk!"

Gasping for breath while shuddering in sincere fury, Xander stiffened in his chair a few moments later. This was due to listening incredulously to a much calmer voice with actual approval in it, *'Bout time ya showed a little backbone, kid.*

"_Huh?!_" Xander couldn't keep from blurting that out, with his mouth left hanging open after this disbelieving interjection.

An intangible chuckle drifted throughout the teenage boy's consciousness. The imaginary (yet all too real) representation of a fictional literary and cinema character went on to helpfully explain.

*Look, son, I'm a bully, and that's the Lord's honest truth. Always was, from what I can remember. If I don't ignore 'em, I tend to push people around to find those who'll stand up to me. Not women, children, or the old folks, though. I'll leave those alone or lend a hand if they need it. But I got no sympathy or respect for anybody who folds right away when things go wrong. Nope, I'll take stubborness over cowardice any time. Just so they don't ever back down, even it it's totally idiotic and pointless when they do that.*

For the next couple of minutes, the library was quiet. Xander contemplated this short lecture from his inner guest. He had to admit, it matched what he remembered how Rooster behaved in the movie _True Grit,_ especially concerning this lawman's unwanted pair of companions during the last half of this 1969 film. At first, the U.S. Marshal hadn't been the slightest bit pleased about traveling with a very determined girl and a brash Texas Ranger. However, in their pursuit of a band of Western desperadoes, Rooster's irked feelings about this eventually changed into actual appreciation for these resolute younger people.

During all this careful study, Xander hadn't been disturbed by the other person now sharing his head. He cautiously mentioned out loud to someone who had to be waiting for this, "You liked it when I talked back at you?"

Somehow, there was a sense of an agreeable shrug elsewhere in the young man's consciousness. This was followed by, *When it's part of holding yer ground, yep. Keep in mind, son, I got no patience for sass or whining 'bout what can't be helped. Which you done earlier, goddamn it. Hellfire, boy, for all we know, when ya next take a nap and then wake up, I could be gone for once and all!*

Leaning back in his chair, Xander considered that, only to argue, "Yeah, maybe. On the other hand, I could be in bed, finish my forty winks, open my eyes, and have _you_ still looking out, like now!"

*Just think of it as me sitting in a train's passenger car and watching the view pass by from the windows, kid. If that's all I can do, I might as well enjoy the trip. Someone else's doing all the hard work, so I figure to leave them to it. It ain't like I can lift one single fucking finger, anyway.*

Hearing that, Xander shot a frankly appalled glance down at his hands still resting on the library table. Thankfully flexing his fingers to assure himself they were still under his control, the high school student immediately accused, "Are you saying you just tried to take over my body here and now?!"

Rooster dryly answered with his own question, *What, ya truly expected me not to? And it wasn't just a moment ago, either. I been trying the whole time ever since we switched places back in the alley.*

Xander let an abrupt, aghast gurgle escape from his lips over learning this little bit of uncomfortable news. His dismayed mood was only partly relieved by a very gruff assertion, *Aw, relax, kid. Couldn't do a damn thing- Hey, did ya try, too? That is, when I was using yer body last night without knowing ya was along for the ride?*

"Uh, yeah," feebly admitted Xander still mostly in shock.

This resulted in *There ya go,* all delivered in a rather resigned tone. *If it didn't work for ya, I'm fucking positive it ain't gonna work for me, likewise. Figure we might as well settle this right away before any further fuss. That fair enough, kid?*

Now totally speechless, Xander bobbed his head several times in astonished agreement.

Rooster seemed apparently satisfied by that, given his next words. *Fine, then. I got a lot more questions for ya. First, when ya collected those kids earlier - by the way, ya done a good job there, son - and turned 'em over to their folks, what the hell was going on? How come nobody said a word 'bout last night's tomfoolery?*

Xander sighed, "Oh, boy."

He spent a few more seconds gathering his thoughts, before starting to explain it all: Sunnydale Syndrome, the Hellmouth, the Slayer, vampires, demons, magic, and every other part of his hometown's weirdness.

When it was finally done, Rooster's first irate reaction was what might've been expected. *Jesus Christ in the mountains! Why the fuck aren't ya calling in the army to take care of it? From the sound of it, this whole place needs to be burnt to the ground and then sowed with a layer of salt six feet thick! Couldn't hurt to also have every preacher in the country on hand, waving their Bibles while loudly invoking the Good Lord against the ungodly!*

The moment he managed to get a word in edgewise, Xander overrode the lawman's incredulous rant. "Uh-huh, no way, buster! When Buffy tried explaining to her mom and dad why the Hemery High gym went up in flames on her first outing as the Slayer, they put her in the loony bin. It didn't sound like she had a real fun time there. What makes you think things would be all that different, if anyone else tried to convince people outside Sunnydale about what goes on here?"

*Mebbe so,* grudgingly came from Xander's mental guest. Rooster showed he was still mostly unconvinced by him adding, *That don't mean this burg's townsfolk can't do something 'bout it. From what I remember being on the streets last night with all the houses, stores, and suchlike, there's a lotta people here. Why ain't they banding together against the monsters who want to eat 'em?*

Xander sighed again, this time much more loudly. "Like I said, Sunnydale Syndrome's really powerful in my hometown. Take me, for example. I grew up here, and I never noticed anything was wrong the entire time. Not until Buffy moved in, and then Wils and I had a crash course from her and G-man about the Boca del Infierno and the rest of the strangeness. So far, we've managed to remember it all while living through various fights with vamps and other night-time uglies. Though, I've actually seen school friends and neighbors come face-to-face with demons and more bad stuff. If they survived it, they either talked themselves into more comfortable memories, or they soon completely forgot the whole thing. Giles thinks it has something to do with the Hellmouth's magic."

Rooster darkly muttered, *It just ain't natural, all of it. How else could ya and me share the same skull now? Fine, fine, can't say magic don't exist, not after what we been through. Mind ya, it ain't the hardest thing to wrap my own head around, son. I mean, were ya really serious 'bout what'd you call her, the Slayer? _That_ little slip of a spoiled brat, she's in fact some sorta rough, tough monster fighter?*

Rolling his eyes in genuine exasperation, Xander snorted, "You just caught Buffy at a really bad time for her, okay? Trust me, you'll soon see first hand how vicious she can be when I get my ass kicked all over this room by her. What really pisses me off is that it'll all be _your _fault because of what you said and did last night, but I'm gonna be the only one to get pounded to a pulp for it!"

*Hell, kid, I been to plenty of whorehouses where ya woulda needed to pay real cash money for that, and yer getting it for absolutely free!* mentally snickered Rooster.

Encouraged by Xander's prompt, inarticulate sputtering over being told this, the gleeful lawman having more fun than he'd previously expected went on, *But if ya really want my advice, ya should save that for last. First, how 'bout a good spanking from the redhead and the dark-haired gal with those magnificent tits? Both of 'em teaming up on ya at the same time, naturally, and dressed in nothing but their corsets laced up tight-*

"WILL YOU KNOCK IT OFF!" roared Xander in his combined embarrassment and fury. He next unconsciously thrust his right hand forward and curled his fingers around an imaginary Western revolver. This was accompanied by a heated, "I swear, if I had your gun from last night and you were right here in front of me, I'd shoot you full of holes for saying that!"

*Yeah, sure,* Rooster tossed off in his most amused tone. *Guess I'm pure-dee lucky either of that ain't gonna happen, right?*

A high school student seated in the deserted library now looked down at where he was still threateningly pointing ahead with a pretend weapon. Obviously, his mental companion followed the teenage boy's gaze. In the very next instant, both a young man and a hard-bitten law enforcement officer saw the abrupt materialization there of a most substantial post-Civil War Colt single action army revolver in Xander Harris' grip.


	8. Chapter 8

The weight of the just-corporeal weapon was fully apparent, with the bulky heft of the revolver on the brink of dragging down Xander's fingers curled around the inlaid pieces of ivory attached to both sides of the pistol stock. Under his touch, these cream-colored embellishments felt as equally tangible as the rest of the entire object which had now impossibly appeared from out of thin air.

"_Yeowp!_" Xander blurted out at once.

The seated teenager instinctively flinched away from what he was holding in his hand. Except...while the rest of his upper torso jerked backwards against the library chair, this young man's right hand still firmly clutching the gun stayed immobile. That resulted in Xander's arm abruptly being fully straightened out, with him continuing to unwaveringly point the revolver ahead at the bookshelves beyond.

Frozen motionless in the chair, Xander gawked at what he was gripping without the slightest quiver in his fingers. A very awed voice then spoke in his mind, *Well, fuck me sideways. Kid, right now, I can _feel_ my gun and everything else! It's the first time I've been able to touch anything since you took over! Lemme see now...*

With growing incredulity, Xander watched the revolver then be moved from side to side and also up and down, with the barrel muzzle shifting to aim at various different books on the library shelves. All this was done by the easy flexing of his wrist, followed by Xander's entire right arm next swinging around in its full range of motion to cover the width of the room. This culminated in the revolver returning to its original position of steadily pointing straight ahead over the library table.

Right after, the boy's thumb lifted itself up, just before pressing down to expertly cock back the weapon's hammer. A matching display of proficient dexterity restored the hammer to its safe position. This was finished by Xander's thumb returning to join the rest of his fingers gripping the pistol stock.

At no time during any of these recent actions had the son of Tony and Jessica Harris actually ordered his body to carry out whatever it'd just inexplicably done. Rather, those very same muscles, joints, and bones were operating quite nicely under another's skillful control.

In an admittedly reasonable quaver, Xander stammered, "Wh- what the hell's going on?"

This produced a pretty acerbic mental snort. *Like I said before, how the fuck should I know? Far's I can tell, when ya put our yer hand a second ago, I just thought of my gun in it - and there it was! Now it feels the same way it did when I was in my own skin, or even when I was in yer body last night...*

Rooster trailed off in mid-sentence at the sudden realization shared with Xander, who himself groaned out loud, "Your gun was part of the Halloween magic then, too! How else could it never run out of bullets or make all those impossible shots? So, the leftover bit of the Chaos spell which kept you around in my head also magically brought along your gun - and when you've got it out, you're back in charge of my body!"

*Shit, kid, ya probably hit the nail right on the head,* Rooster remarked thoughtfully. His next words caused Xander to turn a bit pale, *'Course, there's an easy way to find out if that's really true.*

The teenage male in his library chair now stood up from it, to next enthusiastically start striding around the room. During all this activity in the Sunnydale High library, a young man also vigorously tried out his newfound quickness and ability as best as he could in the area's limited clear spaces. Short sprints combined with sideways jumps were performed, along with dropping into a crouch and darting behind various items of furniture. Throughout everything, at no point did a high school student let go of the revolver he was carrying. Instead, this gun was continuously aimed at numerous imaginary enemies, to then be swung over at the next make-believe foe.

Eventually, Xander was back to standing in front of the library table, breathing a little hard due to all his recent exertions.

"Are you _done?_" then came from his mouth in a rather sour tone, unquestionably because of the truly unnerving experience of again having his body thoroughly manipulated by someone else for the last couple of minutes.

*Yeah- Hey, wait. How come ya can talk, but I can't? Hold on...naw, didn't work that time either.*

Taken aback by this question, Xander unconsciously tried to look down at his mouth. He couldn't do this, or even move any other part of his face now being controlled by Rooster. Staring straight ahead, Xander inwardly frowned, before admitting, "Beats me, fella. It might just be a weird part of the whole mojo stuff. I mean, remember when your gun showed up, and I flinched? That's the only time lately I managed to move on my own. In case you missed it, I tried to butt in on your latest round of Xander-puppet fun, with me having as much luck as you did in moving my lips to chat."

*Huh. That's damn strange. Mebbe ya got away with moving 'cause I wasn't expecting it? I didn't feel ya trying the other times, too. Look, I'm...thinking about turning it off. See if ya can do it now.*

Xander stood like a statue for several seconds, only to soon grumble, "Still no joy, mister. I'm warning you, if this is some sort of trick to take over-"

*Hey!* Rooster indignantly protested. He went on in the same annoyed tone, *It ain't anything I'm doing, so quit yer bellyaching!*

With that grumpy rejoinder, Xander felt his head being tilted down and his gaze narrow at the weapon being expertly handled in his grip. This was quickly followed by a somewhat surprised aside, *Naw, it can't be that easy!*

Just when he was about to open his mouth to demand Rooster explain what this inner person had just mentioned, Xander felt his body move again. He watched how after taking one step forward, next came a careful placing of the lawman's pistol onto its side upon the library table.

An instant later, after letting go of the gun, Xander yelped an astonished, "_Urk!_" with this startled grunt being accompanied by an all-over shudder when he all of a sudden regained control of his body. Frantically patting his chest while doing a few nervous steps back and forth along the edge of the table, Xander was too preoccupied with reassuring himself nobody but him was now firmly in charge, until he got distracted by a bemused request.

*Hey, kid, take a gander at my gun.*

Xander suspiciously eyed that indicated spot on the library table, only to have his jaw drop at the empty space where an all-too-solid revolver should have been there. He said doubtfully, "I wasn't paying attention. What'd it do, disappear right away when I stopped touching it?"

*Yep. Okay, stick out yer hand just like last time, so's we can see if I can put it in there again.*

Promptly shoving both hands in his pants pockets instead, Xander snorted, "Oh, yeah, you got to be kidding me!"

*Why the fuck-? Jesus, youngster, ya figure I'm gonna go running around in yer body full time, don't ya?*

A very sullen nod was given by Xander in response to that exasperated question from Rooster Cogburn. In turn, the marshal stayed quiet for a few moments, until he sternly announced, *All right, it's time to clear the air between us. We gotta settle this for once and all. Now, I haveta say, I'd really much rather be in my own flesh and blood body what I been using my whole life, or even in yours, than floating somewheres in yer head. It ain't all that wonderful, ya hear?*

"My heart truly bleeds for you," Xander muttered sarcastically under his breath.

Rooster growled back, *Watch yer mouth, kid. Now, it looks like I ain't leavin' anytime soon, so we're both gonna just haveta live with it. Here's the deal. Long as I'm in yer head, I'll behave politely like a guest in somebody's home. That means no snooping around, wrecking the place, waking up the other folks in the house after a good time on the town while serenadin' 'em all the way to bed. That kinda stuff, all right?*

Despite himself, Xander felt his lips twitch upwards a fraction. He nevertheless warily asked, "And what do _you_ get in return?"

*First, ya seriously knock off the sass, kid. If I'm gonna be civil, ya damn well better act the same way to me.*

The young man standing in the library thought this over for a few moments. The guy inside his head definitely had a point, and it'd really make things easier for them both if Xander just for once dialed back a bit his usual snarky attitude towards any sort of authority figure. This soon produced, "Okay, fair enough. But if we're going to start out that way, let's do it right. My name's Xander, not kid or youngster or anything else like that. I'll respect you if you respect me."

A mental chuckle came, followed by, *Yer learnin', Xander. Me, my paw handed onto me his own father's name of Reuben, but I never cared for it. Call me Rooster, like everybody did since I proved to the other boys my first day of school there that I was for damn sure the cock of the walk.*

"Yeah, I bet," grinned Xander in turn. He quickly became more serious with, "All right, Rooster, you said 'first' a second ago. What else do we need to talk about?"

There was a short pause until Rooster carefully said, *The whole problem between us of who controls this body. Now, the way I see it, mosta the time yer gonna be in charge, naturally. I got no problem with that. But ya haveta admit, I done pretty well takin' care of yer friends tonight when I was at the reins. From what ya said before, how crazy this town is with all the magic and weird critters in this place, even more'n what went on in the last coupla hours, I could definitely be useful when ya need a hand.*

Xander frowned thoughtfully into the distance. Rooster's argument was again undeniable. Still, that didn't mean all the issues of having his body occasionally under the influence of a certain foul-mouthed, belligerent old guy with no experience whatsoever of the 20th century were promptly going to disappear. For one, there was what looked like an insurmountable difficulty which had already presented itself earlier tonight.

"No booze," flatly stated Xander.

*What?*

The young man in the library repeated himself in a quite steely tone, "You don't ever drink when it's you in the driver's seat again, understand?"

Inside his host's mind, Rooster was taken aback to a considerable degree. He disbelievingly began, "Why not-? Please tell me you didn't sign the pledge!"

Now it was Xander's turn to utter a confused, "Huh?"

*Do they call it something different here now? It means some meddling preacher or women's temperance group talked ya into abstaining from demon rum in order to save yer soul, like a little drop of whiskey on a cold night is really gonna piss off the Almighty at ya-*

"My mom and dad are drunks!" snarled Xander.

At the sudden startled silence in his head, the high school student went on bitterly, "I grew up with empty bottles all over the place at home, never bringing my friends over because I didn't want them to see, and the occasional punch or slap from Tony! Mom just drifts along in a walking stupor, except when she sobers up a little and then tries to act all maternal, until she dives back into her glass of gin! When you poured the entire contents of Mrs. Summers' liquor cabinet into me last night, it was the first time in my whole life I ever even _tasted _the stuff that wrecked my family!"


	9. Chapter 9

*I promise, kid.*

This gruff yet gentle inner voice interrupted Xander's angry swipe at his watering eyes a few moments later. Finishing off with a loud snuffle, the teenager got himself somewhat back under control while another waited patiently. This lead to an uncertain, "What's that supposed to mean, Rooster?"

*If ya like, everything. I won't break yer trust nohow. Not when ya just gave yer permission for me to come out when I'm needed."

Xander had to blink at this. The Sunnydale native thought back of what he'd just said, how it could be construed as consent. No, not could. Xander had surely granted this permission by that condition which underscored his willingness to let another control his body. Considering it further, a Scooby Gang member had a very wry grin then appear on his face.

In a much more accepting tone, Xander inquired, "And, uh, that doesn't bother you? Even for us - me, Buffy, Wils, and Giles - we don't spend every second fighting against the Hellmouth oogly-booglys. It might be a while before you..."

Trailing off, Xander winced deeply at forgetting the whole you're-a-dead-man problem when those two girls, joined by Cordelia, eventually tracked him down at the school library and made him pay in full for exactly what a Halloween-possessed guy had done around them tonight. Xander's abrupt glumness over his approaching doom was quickly diverted by Rooster's jovial reassurance.

*Hellfire, Xander, what do ya think a lawman's livelihood is like, anyways? We ain't wanted by nobody 'til they really need us. Then, after all the shootings and hangings and cleaning up the messes, it's thank ya very much and don't ya got someplace else to go? It'll be no different here, I'm sure, and it never vexed me enough in the first place to be worth losing a minute's sleep over this.*

Encouraged by what he'd been told, Xander nodded in tentative acceptance. He glanced around the library and ventured, "So, what do we do now?"

Rooster didn't answer for a second or two, obviously getting his thoughts in order. He finally ordered, *Put out yer hand, willya, Xander? Like ya did when I made my gun appear in there before. There's a few things I wanna try.*

Xander immediately obeyed without the slightest qualm. But then, either he trusted Rooster, or he didn't. And right at this moment, the teenage boy had complete confidence in someone he secretly hoped would soon feel the same way about him. Looking down at his hand held at waist-height in the pose of gripping an imaginary pistol, Xander then saw this same Old West weapon materialize in the clutch of Rooster Cogburn, who'd just taken over the young man's body at the same instant.

Feeling again a little alarmed about being nothing but a helpless passenger carried along by another, Xander still watched with interest how Rooster strode over to the library main table. With expert fingers, the U.S. Marshal broke open the cylinder of his Colt and he emptied all the bullets from the chambers of this fiream. The falling rounds clattered onto the tabletop, rolling around for a second before they came to a rest there. Without any fuss or bother, every bullet promptly vanished from sight into thin air a split-second later.

At that point, a baffled Xander asked with the only part of his body he could still control, "What're you doing?"

*Ya'll see. It just occurred to me, I didn't have my gun out all the time when it was my turn in yer hometown.*

Not giving Xander a chance to respond, Rooster smoothly snapped the cylinder back into position, and then with his now-free left hand, this lawman yanked open the waistband of the pants he was presently wearing. Casually bringing the muzzle-down revolver towards his body, Rooster then slid two-thirds of that immensely powerful handgun inside Xander's jeans until the trigger guard was at the waistband level. At that stage, a man very familiar with all types of handguns let go of the waistband while also giving the revolver butt a slight twist to hold it in place there.

During this last action, Rooster ignored the strangled, "Glllgggghhhh..." coming from Xander's wide-open mouth.

Instead, the lawman now took both hands away from his waist. Continuing to carefully eye the Colt remaining held in place by the snug jeans waistband, Rooster felt like cheering when rather than magically disappearing when he wasn't touching it, that weapon maintained its solidity. He proudly boasted, *Hah, I thought so! As long as it's pressing up close to me, like it was in my holster tonight, I don't actually have to hold it! Which means I don't switch places with ya, neither!*

"Glllgggghhhh..."

The young, unlined face Rooster was currently wearing now frowned. He irascibly snorted, *Speak up, boy! Didn't you learn no manners-*

"YOU JUST STUCK A GUN DOWN MY PANTS!"

That horrified scream from Xander echoed throughout the library, leaving behind absolute silence in its wake. This was ultimately broken by Rooster's annoyed, *Yep, so what? In case ya missed everything, I unloaded the bullets first, so why all the fuss?*

Xander really wanted to close his eyelids in slow-burn exasperation, but these weren't at present under his control. All he could do was irately grit past his teeth, "You earlier fired off from what's now sharing my underwear more than a couple dozen rounds total the whole night, _remember?_ All without reloading one single time! So, where'd the new bullets come from?"

*Oh.*

After hearing this alarmed sound from Rooster, a not very reassured Xander then had his head glance down at his fingers laying themselves with the utmost delicacy onto the revolver. With equal care, this weapon was removed from its hazardous site, all while Xander was inwardly whimpering. Even when the revolver came safely free to be held away from something he'd really like to use one day for its other intended purpose, Xander's mood wasn't improved at all by the sight of Rooster swinging open the revolver cylinder to show it was again loaded with six deadly projectiles.

"Glllgggghhhh..."

Rooster wisely just stood there for a minute or so, not daring to speak to Xander. Only when he felt enough time had passed not to be yelled at for what'd just went on (or at least not too much) did the lawman risk, *Sorry, kid.*

"Glllgggghhhh..."

Mentally sighing, Rooster decided enough was enough. *Look, Xander, nothing bad happened, so calm down, willya? I won't do something like that again without telling ya first, which is why we should talk over now what I wanna take a crack at next.*

"Oh, goody," Xander responded in a tone dripping with acid. "What'll it be this time? Stick your gun in my mouth, and play Russian roulette with a full load?"

*What the hell are ya talking about?*

Xander grumped, "Never you mind. I'm not giving you any ideas. Nah, maybe I'll just wait for the girls to tear me to pieces when they arrive here. It couldn't hurt any more than whatever stupid thing you might come up with."

*Hey, if I'm right, ya'll really like it,* coaxed Rooster. He nodded towards the far library wall before asking, *What's behind there?*

Looking at where Rooster was gazing, a possessed high school student did an inner baffled shrug. As long as it seemed there wasn't any chance of a repetition in becoming Eunuch Harris, he'd cut that crazy lawman some slack, so let's see where this goes.

Xander cautiously answered, "Nothing, really. That's the back wall for the school. Out beyond, there's the basketball courts, and our football field. After them, you come to Carson Street and the houses along this. Why do you want to know?"

Rooster looked puzzled for a moment. He hazarded, *Ya mean, playgrounds and such? Open space, where nobody is?*

"It's well past midnight, Rooster, and this is Sunnydale. Halloween's over, so any sensible human is fast asleep at home. Anything prowling out there right now isn't probably going to play nicely, share the swings, have a quick game of horse, whatever. Nope, uh-huh. Like I said, why-"

*Good,* calmly said Rooster, just before this peace officer brought up the revolver he'd been holding throughout their conversation, and he shot the wall.

_Tik_

The muted noise of what sounded like a toothpick snapping barely reached the ears of a teenager while an astonished Xander watched a bullet lazily loft itself from the end of the gun barrel. This round was moving so sluggishly that he tracked with ease the lead pellet throughout its entire arcing path in the room from the muzzle to the far wall. Silently impacting the surface of this partition, the bullet bounced off there without making the least little mark on the paint. In the middle of its fall, this piece of lead vanished just like all other examples of this magically-affected ammunition.

"What the hell-?"

Xander's incredulous question was overriden by Rooster's triumphant chortle, *This time, I got it right!"

Right after, the older man now controlling their body flipped open the cylinder to intently peer at the chambers there. Five of those half-dozen regularly-spaced cavities drilled to hold bullets were indeed full, save for one empty chamber. Which, under the shared gaze of Rooster and Xander, now magically replaced itself to present a matched set of shells to this pair of witnesses.

However, a second later, all six bullets resting in their individual chambers now dissolved from existence. Only to next reappear, as if they'd never gone away in the first place.

*Damn, Xander, but this magic stuff is fun!*

"You mean, it's _you_ who's doing this?" blurted out the astonished teenager, who then felt his head nod in satisfaction.

*Nobody else but me, you betcha. I figgered it might work, but until I tried, I wasn't really sure. It looks like what I had last night, just taking it for granted to refill my gun, is still working.*

"Well, okay," Xander said dubiously, "but does that include what just happened, the slowest ever potshot? What was all that for?"

Rooster good-naturedly chuckled, "Oh, pretty much to see if I could do it. But it was also the least hurtful way to check on something else. Thinking back on some of the shots I made last night, there's no way I in hell coulda done them for real, 'less I somehow persuaded those bullets to go 'zacktly where I wanted _and_ to hit as hard as if they was a load of canister fired outta a full-sized cannon. Couldn't help but wonder if I might be able to do it the other way around.*

"And when you let loose that dawdling bullet, which would've lost a foot race with a crippled snail and didn't even scratch the wall, you just proved this theory. Mainly, that you can magically influence your gun and its load of ammo," mused an intrigued Xander.

Rooster enthusiastically nodded. *It don't stop there, Xander! If you know an empty place close by with nobody around to be disturbed, we can try out at a good safe distance what happens when I fire a bullet that's been told to go off like a stick of dynamite when it hits the target!*

There was a short pause in the library, until Xander then said in a rather faraway voice, "You know, it's magic. There's no good reason why we have to limit ourselves to just _one_ piece of dynamite…"

*I like the way ya think, sonny.*

* * *

A few minutes later, Xander came out from the boys' restroom in the school corridor running by the library. Thankfully, some hurried experimentation just earlier had shown that for either of them when the other person was in charge of their body, the current spirit passenger could block out what was going on in the outside world, if necessary.

It'd been promptly agreed by both Xander and Rooster that neither of them particularly _wanted_ to watch each other dealing with a full bladder. So, since the younger man was once more in control at the moment, he'd gone to see a man about a horse while Rooster was basically looking off into the pretend distance of their shared mindscape until it was all over with.

Strolling back towards the open front door of the library, Xander was about to give the guy traveling along inside his head a polite mental nudge to indicate Rooster could now pay attention again. This was abruptly held in abeyance at Xander's passage through the library doorway, which was interrupted by that entrance's movable panel being right away slammed shut behind the teenager a few steps into the book-filled room.

Whirling around at this loud _bang!, _Xander froze in sudden terror at seeing Buffy standing there by the closed door, glaring at him. More sounds of someone approaching nearer from inside the library had Xander frantically looking over his shoulder to observe Willow and Cordelia coming out from where they'd been hiding among the bookshelves, with matching wrathful expressions upon their faces. Wildly glancing around at the three angry girls advancing in unison while again dressed in normal clothes instead of their worse for wear Halloween costumes, Xander spent a surreal moment wondering exactly where this trio of Furies had found their new garments.

Did they really stop by their homes to pick out new oufits? Was it a matter of each separating to do this, or might alternate pairs have tagged along as guests when one of them went through their personal closets and drawers?

Hey, if he was going to get killed in the next couple of seconds, Xander would damn well select which completely trivial part of his life would flash before his dying eyes.

*Kid? You done?*

"Glllgggghhhh..."

*What the hell's- Oh, them. Ya know, I didn't think it possible, but those fillies are even purtier now, yessir. I like a gal with real spirit, and it also don't hurt they're all wearing skimpier stuff than what I use for rags in cleaning my shotgun. Do ya know just how lucky ya are, kid? Now that we're all here, how 'bout introductions all round, and then lessee how it goes after that…*

Just before they laid their hands upon him with the intention of committing serious bodily harm against the form of Xander Harris, a threesome composed of Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, and Cordelia Chase then saw this young man stiffen in place with genuine ire.

Next came the clenching of his fists, and then while staring straight ahead at a completely unoccupied part of the library, Xander bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Quit calling me a kid, Rooster! Also, I don't care if you think you really hit the biggest jackpot of your whole life with a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead here! I'm not going to suggest to them we all get naked now and fuck like bunnies!"

* * *

Author's Note: And that's it. This is how I always intended ending the story, with Xander in even more trouble while Rooster Cogburn, a truly evil old coot, thoroughly enjoys himself.

If I ever feel like it, there might be a sequel. Or not.


End file.
